The Dance
by opheliarose
Summary: Christian visits Satine's grave and sings her a song.


Christian walked along the quiet streets of Paris. It was late at night, and he felt like everyone else in the world but him was tucked up inside their homes, cozy and warm, snuggled up close to someone they loved. He sighed and pulled his long coat tighter around him. It was very cold out, and snow was drifting down from the sky in little white puffs that melted into his eyes every time he looked up. But the sting of the cold reminded him that he was still alive, something that he needed every now and again. His world had been lonely and empty for quite some time now, and it was the little things that convinced him that, like it or not, he was still here, and she was not.

He'd woken up this morning--this afternoon, rather, as the case had been--from an absinthe induced sleep with the need to visit her grave. He didn't go often. It was too painful to see the mound of dirt and stone that symbolized her final resting spot. She'd been so vibrant, so alive and glorious, that it was impossible to think of her _not being_ anymore. Christian paused as he neared the gates to the cemetery, trying to settle his nerves a bit. Though he tried to spare himself pain by not coming often, it only made it worse when he did. He raised a shaky hand to the gate, and pushed it open.

She was buried on the right side, by the fence that ran the perimeter of the land. He made his way gingerly around headstones and plaques until he found the one that bore her name. He stopped in front of it, hands in his pockets, and stared at it. The stone was covered with a thick layer of snow, and Christian dropped to his knees in front of it, ignoring the cold wetness that soaked through his trousers. He brushed the snow off of the stone with gloveless fingers and ran them across the letters on it. He'd spent every penny he'd had to get her this stone, and had even gone to Zidler to ask for his help. It was small, but it was the best he could do. It bore her name, the year she was born, and the year she had died. Not enough time between the two dates, he thought forlornly, and then he whispered her name as he caressed the stone, wishing he could touch her one last time. "Satine…"

Christian's head fell forward as the tears he tried so hard to hold in on a daily basis slid down his cheeks and onto the snow. Sobs racked his body and he shook, not from cold but from mourning. Oh, he missed her so terribly. He'd thought it would get better with time, but it seemed that every day was worse. He didn't know how he was to go on without her. Memories were all he had and with every bottle of absinthe he drank to soothe his heart, it seemed the memories slipped further and further away.

His tears lessened after a few minutes and he looked up at the sky. The snow was still coming down, harder now, but he didn't care. He wanted to say something, needed to say something to her. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Then, in a flash, he knew what to say. "My gift is my song, and this one's for you," he said softly, and began to sing to his love.

__

Looking back

On the memories of

The dance we shared

Beneath the stars above

For a moment

All the world was right

How could I have known

That you'd ever say goodbye?

And now

I'm glad I didn't know

The way it all would end

The way it all would go

Our lives are better left to chance

I could have missed the pain

But I'd have had to miss 

The dance

Holding you

I held everything

For a moment 

Wasn't I a king?

If I'd only known

How the king would fall

And who's to say 

Oh I might have changed it all

And now

I'm glad I didn't know

The way it all would end

The way it all would go

Our lives are better left to chance

I could have missed the pain

But I'd have had to miss 

The dance

Yes, my life

It's better left to chance

I could have missed the pain--

His voice caught in his throat, and he had to pause to find his bearings. Then he finished:

__

But I'd have had to miss

The dance…

Christian leaned forward and kissed her name, and stood up. "I love you, Satine," he said quietly, and turned and walked away, shoulders hunched against the cold, guarding his memories safe in his heart.

The next week, one not so very special day, he went to his typewriter, he sat down, and he wrote their story. A story about a time, a story about a place, a story about the people. But above all things, a story about love. A love that will live forever.

__

The end.

---------------------------------

[Your Song-Elton John/Ewan McGregor

The Dance-Garth Brooks]


End file.
